


Smackdown

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Series: Sportsfest 2018 [11]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Arm Wrestling, Gen, Majestically noping past the fact that they don't live in the same city
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Three in the morning. Two thirsty guys. One last bottle of Pocari Sweat.





	Smackdown

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for bonus round 1 of sportsfest.

Three in the morning. Two thirsty guys. One last bottle of Pocari Sweat.

Iwaizumi meets the other guy’s eye and flexes his fingers, ready to make a quick grab for the one lone bottle of Pocari sweat still left in the cooler of the only convenience store still open in the middle of the night. 

It’s his favorite time to go for a run in the summer. The streets are quiet, the heat from the previous day has time to leach out of the pavement, and the air just smells a little bit better. And sometimes, a man needs a drink. 

A drink that some guy with stupid hair is eyeballing with unbridled lust at this very moment.

“I was here first.” His nemesis crosses his arms and plants his feet defiantly. 

Iwaizumi chortles. “We got here at the same time. I’m not moving.”

“It’s grape!” the stranger with skunk hair pouts. “I love grape. I want it.” He gazes longingly over at the bottle, and Iwaizumi has to tamp down the urge to let him have it.

There’s only one way to settle this.

“Let’s arm wrestle for it.” Iwaizumi’s eyes fall to this guy’s meaty biceps, knowing that someone who works out that much will never turn down a test of strength. “Winner gets the bottle.”

His proposal is greeted with a wide smile. “You’re on.”

They matriculate over to the dormant dining area at the back of the store, and they sit opposite each other at the nearest table. Before he offers his hand, however, Iwaizumi blurts, “Name’s Iwaizumi.”

“Bokuto.” Bokuto props his elbow on the table and wriggles his fingers. “You know know the name of the guy who is gonna paste your ass.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes glitter at the challenge, the thrill of competition trickling through him. “Likewise.” His elbow thumps down on the table, his arm raised. “You ready to eat crow and drink something else?”

“Not gonna happen, shorty.” Bokuto waggles his brows.

Iwaizumi bristles, grinding his teeth to keep from being baited into a juvenile contest of insults. This isn’t about name-calling; this is about strength. And Iwaizumi is going to give it everything he’s got and will enjoy the hell out of that last bottle.

Their hands meet, and the contest begins on the count of three. As soon as Bokuto applies force against Iwaizumi’s own efforts, Iwaizumi’s eyes bulge in surprise. This guy is strong as hell, and for the first time ever, he isn’t sure he’s going to win.

“You must have a ridiculous bench,” Iwaizumi hisses, willing extra strength into his forearm.

Bokuto grins, even as sweat sprouts at his temples. “I do all right.” He pushes an extra wave of force into it, and Iwaizumi almost reels at the strength of it. “Ready to quit yet?”

“Hell no.” Iwaizumi focuses out everything else. The only thing in the room is the arm in front of him. No Pocari Sweat, no early morning jogging time that’s ticking away with this ridiculous venture. Just Iwaizumi, Bokuto, and the competition.

Centimeter by hard-fought centimeter, Iwaizumi fights back Bokuto’s efforts until victory is in his grasp. However, a breath away from winning, the sound of the cooler door opening saps his attention just enough for Bokuto to slam his hand down and shoot to his feet in victory. 

“Oh, yeah, I got game,” Bokuto howls, but Iwaizumi barely hears it. 

His eyes are solely for the guy at the coolers with a dolly full of Pocari sweat, pumping the empty slots full of a fresh supply of the beverage. “Of course.” 

Bokuto turns to see it, as well, and groans aloud. “Oh, c’mon!”

Iwaizumi stands and claps Bokuto on the shoulder. “Congratulations. You win.” WIth that, he saunters over to the cooler and manages to identify the lone cold one and heads for the checkouts. 

Bokuto follows suit, none the wiser, and they head out of the store side by side, and Iwaizumi bumps his bottle into Bokuto’s. “You almost had me. If I hadn’t looked away, I would’ve kicked your ass.”

“If by kicking my ass, you mean beating me at losing, then yeah. You’re totally right.” Bokuto unscrews the lid of his drink and slowly brings it to his lips. “Same time tomorrow?”

Enjoying the feeling of his  _ cold _ drink under his fingers, Iwaizumi smirks. “You’re on.”


End file.
